The Blue in the Green
by Alithea
Summary: Post EW. There are plenty of mistakes and odd thoughts to be found in a bar. Iria Winner and Sylvia Noventa come across a few of them. F/F content.


**Title: The Blue in the Green  
>Rating: PG-13<br>Poetry is mine. Characters are not mine I am just borrowing.  
><strong>**A/N: Um...this did not go how I thought it would go. **_*****_** From **_**The Hours**_** by Michael Cunningham page 114.**

There was a part of Iria Winner that felt the sting of her past mistakes whenever she looked into the mirror. Sometimes if things were just right she would find herself regretting for no reason other than it was something she could do.

At that moment, sitting in a dark corner of the bar, she was regretting being the only member of the family aside from her father who knew the truth about Quatre's natural birth. It sort of ate at her insides that her father had gone so far out of his way to have as many children as possible, and even managed a surprise male heir. There was bitterness there that wasn't fair to her brother, or her father. But she didn't exactly have either of them around so she could talk it out.

Her father was dead.

Her brother was distant.

She couldn't bear the thought of talking to one of her sisters about things.

So, there she was, performing mental gymnastics in solitude when she could have been having a good time, or at the very least notice that the young woman across the way seemed to be working up the nerve to talk to her.

Iria shut her eyes for a moment and made all the awkward family drama drift from her thoughts. She listened to the slow and rhythmic guitar and drums from the stage. It wasn't exactly jazz, but it was very soothing in an avant-garde fashion. Then the song ended and the band left the stage for something more traditional. The saxophone player was good, but not great, and it shook her from the ah-ha moment she felt was traveling her way.

_We write the music of our lives with no fear__  
><em>_And play it with constant hesitation__  
><em>_Missing beats we wrote for truth__  
><em>_Skipping lines that sound uncouth__  
><em>_And in the wandering melody__  
><em>_The rise and fall of our certainty__  
><em>_We miss the very important part__  
><em>_That our lives are the meaning__  
><em>_The very purpose of art__  
><em>  
>Sylvia had found the club by accident. She had been traveling as part of a bigger delegation, and had snuck away from her assigned bodyguards because she wasn't sure she could take another night trapped in a hotel, eating dinner with politicians, and listen to them ramble about things she understood better than they did.<p>

Try as she might she just could not convince people that she was not, nor would she ever be the next Relena Peacecraft. She was not on the trip to further a political career. She was there because she was donating money to causes she believed in.

She had brought a rather dog-eared copy of a book she had read too many times to count. The pages were fading, and she had covered the outside of the book in a strange assortment of gum wrappers that served as a type of book cover. The book sat untouched next to her rather tame lemon-lime soda, as she watched the band play.

Then the music shifted and she found herself suddenly fascinated by the woman sitting across from her who seemed too lost in though to notice anything.

The band left the stage and a saxophone player stepped onto the stage. Sylvia thumbed a corner of her book and opened to a random page. Her eyes found a passage she had previously underlined in pencil. It read:

_"If I tell you I'm enchanted to see you now, I'm sure you can imagine how ecstatic I'd have been to see you at the hour you were actually expected."__*****_

Sylvia found herself smirking and left her table for the bar. She ordered two drinks that were on special, a Midori sour and a rum and cola. She wasn't sure which one she would end up with, but both seemed like good choices as she walked over to the other woman's table and sat them down.

_Have you ever written anything for someone__  
><em>_Poured all your soul into tempting lines__  
><em>_And delivered them with shaking hands__  
><em>_Having them accepted, rejected__  
><em>_The smile of admiration__  
><em>_The confusion of the gesture__  
><em>_All over this little world, and wide Universe__  
><em>_It happens again and again__  
><em>_Now...__  
><em>_Have you ever had something written for you__  
><em>_What did you do then?__  
><em>  
>Iria wasn't sure what to do when the young woman approached her table with two drinks in her hand. She eyed them both, and then the young woman.<p>

All other thoughts flitted away and she asked, "What are my choices?"

"Midori sour, or rum and cola," the girl answered, and took a seat when Iria gestured for her to do so.

Iria reached out for the rum and cola. She sighed in relief when the saxophone player left the stage and the previous band returned.

"Do you always do this, Miss-"

"Sylvia, Sylvia Noventa."

The last name rung a bell.

"And...No," Sylvia said. "I don't usually have the opportunity."

Iria nodded and then said, "I'm Iria Winner."

"Of the Winner family?" She looked like she wanted to laugh.

"The very same," Iria replied, and took a sip from her drink. "Aren't you here for something special?"

Sylvia nodded. "Oh, yes." She took a long sip from her own drink and then said, "This moment is special enough for me."

_Error number...nine...twenty...thirty__  
><em>_Someday I'll stop counting and enjoy them__  
><em>_Was it a mistake to notice you__  
><em>_It was a mistake to kiss you__  
><em>_Loving you was poor judgment__  
><em>_But what does it matter__  
><em>_I'm here now__  
><em>_Error number...forty...eighty...ninety...__  
><em>_Can I forget you__  
><em>_Maybe__  
><em>_But I'm still here__  
><em>_I'm still here__  
><em>  
>Sylvia sat out on her terrace and watched the sun set. She was at the last page of her book and kept reading the closing line over and over again. Then she suddenly stood up and went over to the phone and dialed a number she had tried to forget.<p>

There was no answer so she left a hurried message, "I must seem a wreck to you, but...call me. Mistakes or not, there's always another hour. And I just can't... You weren't a mistake, Iria. One night… Two nights...I don't care how many. I want as many as I can get with you. Screw everything else."

She hung up and leaned against her couch. She took a deep breath and then picked her book up again. She put it back on her bookshelf and then turned when someone walked in the room.

"I'm packed," the young man said.

"I know." She looked into his blue eyes and then said, "Maybe I should have just killed you, spared you the heartache."

"No. There was nothing to be spared," he said, and then asked, "Will she call you back?"

"I don't know. Will he take you back, Heero?"

His brow nit and he said, "I never really left."

"We're pretty messed up, aren't we?"

"Just a little."

End.


End file.
